They hurried out of the solarium and into the Stone Hall where Svetlana’s mother stood three steps up on the grand staircase flapping her arms as if to entice the drawing crowd closer. Having declared it unnecessary to mourn for a man she’d never met, she’d dressed in green silk with emerald accessories liberally borrowed from Svetlana’s jewelry box. Jewelry Wynn had presented her with as duchess.
“Ladies and gentlemen, or in Russian we say
Wynn covered the three steps in one long stride. “Thank you, Princess Ana. Always a delightful addition to any gathering.”
Mama elbowed him. “I wasn’t finished welcoming our guests.”
Wynn ignored her. “If everyone would like to grab a final glass before we start the auction, now is the time to do so. Otherwise, please be patient while the tallies are made. Remember that all of your generous proceeds will go toward new construction on a training center for education and work experience for those most affected by the war’s suffering.”
Applause rounded the room, echoing off the smooth stones that amplified it to thunder. Svetlana eased a tremulous pent-up breath. What a tremendous moment for their community, one she was so delighted to share with Wynn. A task they were taking on together. He may have deceived himself into thinking he was no longer vital to the medical world—a view she was determined to change—but in no way could he deny the good he was doing this night. May it prove to be the push he needed.
A disturbance rippled from the back of the crowd. A head bobbed closer and closer until the press of guests peeled back to reveal a ghost. Curly hair black as a Siberian night, trimmed mustache, tall and slim with long limbs accustomed to climbing in and out of carriages before palaces. Eyes so dark Svetlana could drown in them. And they were pinned directly on her.
“Sergey?” Mama called as if from a long distance away, barely registering as Svetlana fuzzily tried to piece together the apparition before her. It wasn’t possible.
Sergey’s ghost strode toward her. Svetlana didn’t have time to speak before his arms were around her, dipping her backward, and his mouth devouring hers, proving he was very much alive.
She froze. This wasn’t happening.
Righting her, Sergey pulled back and beamed a smile that outshone the moon.
“Hello, Svetka. I told you I would come,
She frantically searched the crowd. At last her eyes slammed onto her husband standing rooted to the steps. She caught one glimpse of the horror paling his face before the crowd surrounded her and Sergey, swallowing them whole.
Chapter 23
The guests had dispersed home amid the last drops of wine and buzzing with gossip of the duchess and her unexpected paramour. Another revolution could have sprung and Svetlana would not have noticed as she sat on the settee in the library with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. The room had been a sanctuary when she’d first arrived with its overstuffed pillows and pages to pour through that recounted exploits of her new home, but she saw none of it now. Not even the blazing fire could stave off her chills, which had little to do with the formidable Scottish weather.
For his part Sergey appeared not the least concerned with the spectacle and ensuing fallout it caused as he recounted his tale.
“The Bolsheviks dragged me to one of the many buildings they had commandeered and threw me into the basement with the other loyalists they’d managed to capture that night you escaped.” He paced slowly in front of the large fireplace, the flames burning bright orange behind him to elongate his already lanky shadow. “When they weren’t interrogating me, I was beaten and starved. Brutal tactics by beasts.”
Sitting in a chair opposite Svetlana, Mama dabbed a lace hankie to her eyes. “What information could they possibly hope to gain from a gentleman?”